


Deep Breaths

by ivyness



Series: AU Yeah August 2018 [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Mental Health Issues, au yeah august, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-21 01:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15546996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyness/pseuds/ivyness
Summary: Coffee, arrows, and air vents. A love story.





	Deep Breaths

1.

Bucky is on his nightly patrol when something about the campus coffee shop pulls him up short. The lights are on but it’s way past closing time. The only noise is the faint boom boom of the bass coming from the frat houses a little bit off campus. He’ll eventually have to make his way over there to shut them down but something about the coffee shop just doesn’t seem right.

When he tries it, the door is unlocked and he steps in slowly to do a cautionary sweep. Finding no one, Bucky edges his way past the front counter, noting a coffee tin and a couple cups laying out and a ten dollar bill sitting near the register.

Bucky’s not sure what he expects to find as he turns into the kitchen but it certainly isn’t a young man shivering inside a blanket, huddled against the warmth of the radiator and hugging a coffee mug like a lifeline. This coffee shop is always ridiculously warm but the man looks like he’s a moment away from frostbite.

“Kid, what are you doing here?” Bucky asks as he squats down in front of him.

The guy looks up at him with bloodshot eyes, briefly glancing at Bucky’s prosthetic arm before focusing in on his face. Bucky watches as the guy’s blue eyes glaze, unseeing before flickering back down to his empty coffee mug.

Bucky tries to remind himself of all the frat parties he still needs to break up but his mind is caught on the memory of bright blue eyes focusing in on his face with barely a glance at his metal arm. 

Bucky sighs and goes back out to the front counter, picking up the tin of coffee and looking at its label. Bucky’s never been a barista but even he knows how to make instant coffee. He also nabs one of the sandwiches from the display case and tosses it in the microwave to heat up.

Walking back into the kitchen, Bucky sees that the guy hasn’t moved an inch since Bucky found him. “Here, I made a fresh pot,” he says as he holds out the warm mug. The guy looks up, his expression flickering, before shuttering again but he still wraps his hands around the new mug. “I’m Bucky, campus security, have a sandwich.”

The guy looks at him quizzically and offers, “Clint.” 

Bucky nods and sits down next to him, the radiator digging into his back watching Clint from the corner of his eye.

Clint stays huddled over his new mug of coffee as he takes a bite of his sandwich and wrinkles his nose at the taste. Clint glances at his coffee, then the sandwich in his hand and back again. Bucky watches in growing horror as Clint proceeds to dunk the entire sandwich in his coffee and then pull it out to take a huge, slurping bite.

“Ew dude, what.”

Clint glances at him, a twinkle coming over his eyes as he continues to methodically dunk and chew his drowned sandwich. Bucky can’t help but be amused though as he watches Clint slowly relaxes, his muscles losing their harsh rigidity. 

Once Clint’s finished his coffee and fished out the crumbs of his mangled sandwich from the bottom of the mug, Bucky stands, ruffling Clint’s hair as he heads out. “Get some sleep kid. Be sure to lock up behind you.”

“Not a kid,” he hears mumbled behind him, turning just in time to see Clint stick out his tongue at him.

Laughing, Bucky leaves a twenty dollar bill on the counter, right next to Clint’s.

2.

Clint’s super embarrassed with himself. It’s not the first time he’s made a fool of himself in front of someone incredibly hot. Natasha and Phil are living witnesses to that. But of course the one person who had to find him last night, looking like a wreck, had to be Bucky. Bucky, the living legend of Avengers University. Half the school was practically in love with the man and Clint was not immune.

After Bucky had left, Clint had finally been able to drag himself back to his dorm, curl up and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. It was the best sleep he’s had all week, the memory of Bucky’s warm bulk next to him chasing away the chill.

But Clint is practiced in staying on top of his head shit and the thing with Bucky was so obviously a one time thing. So he heads to the shooting range, refusing to break his routine, to practice with his bow until he’s too exhausted to not fall asleep. 

The range is usually abandoned at this hour but of course this is his life and the world won’t let him just wallow in his embarrassment in peace.

Bucky stands in a lane, methodically putting his rifle together. Clint watches as Bucky slowly lifts his rifle up in one smooth motion to stare down the sight, pausing as if grappling with himself before dropping it back down to the table to take it apart again. Clint stares as Bucky’s fingers pass over his rifle, swift and skilled. He can feel his cheeks heating up as Bucky competently builds and takes apart each piece.

After the third cycle of Bucky building and disassembling is rifle, Clint can see past his cloud of embarrassment and notes the increasingly tense line of Bucky’s back each time his holds up his rifle, never taking a single shot. Bucky’s breathing is loud and harsh, echoing in the silence of the range.

He waits until Bucky has finished disassembling his rifle before walking over. “Hey,” he says all eloquence and grace.

Bucky jerks as he looks over at him and grunts before turning back. “You seem pretty good at that,” Clint notes, stating the obvious as he moves into the neighboring stall. He puts down his case and pulls out his bow, feeling Bucky’s interest on him.

Clint runs his hand along his bow, fingers searching for imperfections, testing the curvature and tension. 

“You know how to shoot that thing?”

Clint looks over at where Bucky is staring pointedly at his bow. He grins cat-like and just a bit mean, “You know how to shoot that thing?” he asks, nodding at the expertly disassembled rifle in front of Bucky.

“Touche.”

They’re both quiet as Clint knocks his first arrow, slowly pulling his arm up and back to his ear, sighing easily as he sinks into the strain of his muscles. Clint waits like that for a breathe, muscles tense, basking in his form and eyes locked on the target in front of him. A beat. And he lets it fly. He doesn’t have to look to know his arrow is dead center. He hears Bucky exhale sharply and Clint turns to him with a grin. 

“Again.”

Clint grins even wider and in one smooth motion he turns, pulling another arrow from his quiver, drawing it back to his ear and let’s go, giddy with the thunk of a second bullseye. Bouncing on the balls of his feet he tilts his head back at where Bucky is staring at his arrows in awe.

“Again.”

Clint laughs loud and obnoxious and completely unselfconscious as he proceeds to unload his full quiver into the unsuspecting bullseye.

Clint practically skips as he goes to retrieve his arrows. “I can shoot that thing too,” he calls, nodding over to where the rifle still lies disassembled in front of Bucky.

“I’m probably a better shot at it, though.” Bucky calls back. 

Clint laughs and shrugs. “Don’t like guns anyway.” Grinning, he walks up close and into Bucky’s space. When Bucky doesn’t back away he says in a low voice, “Me and my bow could probably beat you and your rifle though.”

Bucky stares at him, unflappable. “Maybe.” He tilts his head and reaches for where Clint’s hand is still wrapped around his bow, “Teach me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

3.

Clint and Bucky have just moved into a small place off campus the first time it happens. Bucky knows Clint has had panic attacks before but this is the first time he’s there when it happens. 

After, Clint scrambles up into the air vents, and finds safety in the tight, high up space. Bucky can easily visualize Clint’s sight lines, can see him mapping out the exits and blind spots. 

Bucky has known veterans who suffered from panic attacks but this is his first time trying to help someone deal with the aftermath. His own attacks don’t count. 

He sits across from the vent, clearly visible, leaning back against the wall. The room is deathly silent. Bucky can’t even hear Clint’s breathing. Bucky knows that Clint must be on high alert, ready and waiting for what, Bucky doesn’t know. 

Bucky is not sure what to do but he doesn’t like Clint’s deathly silence. So he talks. Things come out slow and gruff. Truths and stories that he’s never voiced before. Things that he never thought he would say out loud, he tells to Clint, watchful from the vents. 

Bucky tells Clint how he lost his arm. 

He tells him about his prosthetic. One of a kind, engineered and built by Tony Stark specifically for him. Metallic and bright and standoffish. He tells Clint how he used to be a sniper. But how that title sometimes no longer feels right. 

The arm. It’s so bright and so heavy it turns him into a symbol. People recognize the arm before they recognize him and his therapist thinks he needs to work on the disassociation he has with it because it’s his. The arm. It’s his and he’ll fight anyone who tries to take it from him because it’s his but sometimes he hates it so much. The arm. 

He tells Clint that he probably was already in love with him after the first time they met. When Clint had looked at Bucky, looked past the arm, and seen just Bucky. He loves that Clint trusts him, trusts his arm, his control over it and it’s deadly strength, so much trust that it scares him sometimes. He loves that Clint always lets him decide whether it’s his arm or the arm. 

He tells Clint about Steve. About enlisting, about Steve following, about Bucky’s fall and his torture. About Steve’s guilt. About his guilt about Steve’s guilt. And his anger, so much anger all the time that he’s scared about what he could do. 

He tells Clint about how he’s working as a campus security guard while Steve finishes his art degree. How he doesn’t have any other ideas for after. How he used to be a lot lost and a lot scared when he thought about after. How he’s still scared but not so lost anymore because he hopes that all of his afters will have Clint in them, with him, by his side. 

Clint crawls out of the vent and goes to sit next to him. Bucky’s eyes are dry but he feels wrung out and leans against Clint. He closes his eyes and lets Clint keep watch, listening to the sound of Clint’s breathing. 

4\. 

Clint lets Bucky drag him to the shooting range. Bucky had woken him up way too early. Too early for the range to be open but Clint had a key to the place, bought with pizza and pity from the janitor. He’d complained until Bucky gave him his hearing aids and his bow and he got a good look at Bucky’s stoic face, and the rifle case hanging from his shoulder and Clint knew it was a listen to Bucky kind of day.

When they get to the range, Bucky gently puts down his case, inspecting each part carefully as he assembles his rifle. Clint watches as Bucky finishes, lifts it up and stares down the sight. His arms don’t show a single tremor, breathe held silent and still, finger on trigger. Clint watches for a beat, then two, then three, before he turns and walks into the neighboring lane to set up his bow.

Bucky still hasn’t moved by the time Clint’s finished setting up, so he carefully knocks an arrow, pulling it up and back. He waits a beat, then two, then three. They’re two statues, unmoving, air still, target locked and trigger ready.

All’s silent and then Bucky takes a large ragged breathe, shattering the stillness. Clint winces as Bucky’s breathing echoes throughout the empty range but a quick glance shows him that Bucky’s arms are steady, his rifle still locked on target. Clint watches from the corner of his eye as Bucky slowly forces his breathing to smooth out and on one last, loud, but steady breathe Clint lets his arrow fly just as Bucky pulls the trigger, a loud crack breaking the silence for a second time. 

Clint waits a beat, then two, then three before he turns to Bucky with a cheeky grin, “You missed the bullseye, looks like I won that round.”

Bucky glares at where his bullet is just barely touching the red dot. “Again.”

This time there’s just the barest hitch of his breathe before Bucky clamps down on it hard and takes the shot. Clint wins that round too.

“Again.”

The next one comes easier. And the next one after that. On and on until Clint’s quiver is empty and Bucky’s breathing is smooth and easy. They’re both shaking with laughter and adrenaline as they head over to inspect their targets.

Bucky calls it a draw.

Clint says “Fuck you, no” and makes Bucky promise to cook dinner.

Clint calls it a win.

5.

Clint wakes with a start, shivering with ice in his veins. He searches for Bucky, wanting his warmth and his stupid, dumbass, cocky grin. Clint finds him far on the other side of the bed, body tense and rigid, held still in the grips of a nightmare. Bucky’s nightmare must have triggered his own night terrors, or vice versa he thinks with a pang of guilt.

He reaches over to his nightstand, pushing in his hearing aids before he whispers “Bucky,” trying to ease him awake. When all he gets is silence he tries again, louder, and louder until his name is a near shout in the silence of their bedroom.

Bucky jerks awake, swinging his metal arm wildly, his other arm pulled in close protecting his torso and head. Clint is ready for this and he jumps out of the way, dodging easily.

When Bucky comes to, he stops abruptly, checking over Clint with his eyes before pushing himself into the headboard as far away from Clint as he can get. He refuses to make eye contact and huddles in on himself, his hair obscuring his face.

“Aww no. No, c’mon Bucks I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re fine. You didn’t hurt me, you never would and it’s not like I’d let you anyways.” Clint tries to grin, his voice wobbly. When all he gets is silence, Clint tries again, “Please, Bucky, I’m cold.”

That gets Bucky moving. His eyes darting up and sweeping over Clint again, cataloging the sweat along his brow and the shivers of fear Clint harshly stills. Bucky stands, reaching for Clint and running his hands along his face, arms, torso, keeping the chill of his metal arm on top of Clint’s night shirt. Clint’s tried to tell Bucky that the cold of his arm is not the same kind of cold that triggers him and pushes him into a panic but Bucky is still so careful and gentle with him.

Bucky grabs a clean quilt from the closet, wrapping Clint up tight and warm with a hug before entwining their fingers together and pulling the Clint burrito into the kitchen.

Bucky sits him down at the counter before starting a pot of coffee and toasting some bread for a sandwich.

As Clint huddles around his coffee mug and leans into Bucky’s bodyheat, he wonders at how lucky he is. 

Clint lets Bucky steal his tomato before dunking the sandwich in his coffee, smiling at the face Bucky makes.


End file.
